Not All Changes Are Visible
by anthfan
Summary: How Hermione deals with the immediate aftermath of the final battle


It was over. At least that's what they told her. It didn't feel over. Didn't look over. Didn't smell over. Didn't sound over. The castle was in ruin. Blood and fear still rent the air, and fires burned.

But it was still. And she hadn't been still in so very very long she didn't know what to do.

Ron was with George who was with Fred. Wouldn't leave him. Couldn't leave him.

Harry was everywhere and nowhere. She had seen him talking with Neville, with McGonagall, and then she couldn't find him and saw him sitting by Remus and she dare not disturb him.

She wiped a shaky hand across her forehead and when she looked down saw the smear of blood and dust mixed with sweat and in an instant she had a purpose.

She needed to be clean.

She left the Great Hall and saw that the main staircases had mostly survived intact. Rubble was everywhere but they didn't look in danger of collapsing. It was quiet here, everyone else had moved to a central location and it didn't occur to anyone that people may be wandering about the castle.

She headed to the Gryffindor common room out of habit. Two steps through what used to be the Fat Lady's portrait and she knew she wouldn't find the answer to her quest there.

She could see sky where the tower used to be. The thought of 'Guess you can't go home again' flit through her mind as she turned around to leave.

She knew where the other house's dorms were even if she had never been in them. Ravenclaw was the closest, but much like Gryffindor she could tell without stepping inside that it was a lost cause.

Hufflepuff was next, and she grew hopeful, other than one caved in wall it seemed mostly intact. Up a winding staircase and down a long corridor she came to a doorway that she assumed at one time had a door.

To the left was nothing but air, but to the right were brick dust covered beds, and beyond that she could see what looked to be tile.

She had no clue if this was a boys or girls dormitory and she didn't rightly care. It had a bathroom, that hadn't been destroyed. Unlike the bathroom in her own house, these were separate little rooms with doors that shut. Each one held a sink, toilet and tub and she had never seen anything more glorious in her life.

She entered the first little room and shut the door behind her. She swayed on her feet for a second as the thought hit her that this was the first time she had been alone with any true privacy in such a long time. With a shaking hand she reached towards the faucets, prepared to be disappointed.

But the water spurted out, just like it was intended and after holding her breath for a second she began to see steam rise. She sent a silent thanks to the Founders for whatever magic allowed this to be possible.

She didn't dare look in the mirror. She couldn't see that person staring back at her. As long as she didn't look there was a chance she could still be the person she was before the war.

Slowly and methodically she began to undress. Her jacket was stiff with dried blood on the left sleeve and after she had peeled it off she saw the scar Bellatrix had given her had opened again. She ignored it for now. She had been ignoring it for awhile, a little longer wouldn't hurt.

Pulling her shirt over her head was difficult, her shoulders protested and she hissed as the fabric pulled over her scraped knuckles. Her trousers had held up remarkably well, except for being dusty and one small tear on the knee. Two thunks as her boots hit the floor before she pulled them off and discovered the chunk of flesh missing from that knee. Funny, it didn't hurt. Her underwear followed quickly and she looked at the floor.

She was surrounded by dirt and dust and tiny drops of red coming from some wound she wasn't even aware of. She grabbed her wand and muttered a few cleansing spells, hating that she would have to put these clothes back on but knowing she didn't have any other choice.

And then she had nothing left to do. Nothing else to keep her from stepping in the tub, and so she did.

She knew the water was too hot but she couldn't bring herself to turn it down. The slightly shaking hand from earlier had now turned into full on body tremors, but it wasn't from being cold.

She forced herself to stand under the spray and she shut her eyes. It was scalding. And as the water ran down it found every cut and scrape and burn from spellfire. She bit her lip to keep from crying out and leaned heavily on the tiled wall as her knees became weak.

Taking a chance she opened her eyes and looked down. The swirls of brown and rust were almost hypnotizing and then she couldn't see through the glaze of tears.

She heard herself sobbing first, and then realized, in some unattached part of her brain that she was about to have a breakdown.

She managed to slide down the wall before curling in as small a ball as possible while the water beat down.

And she broke. Everything she had kept in for the past year came out all at once.

Her parents, leaving school, Ron's betrayal, her torture, being on the run for a year, thinking Harry was dead, losing so many good people. It played over and over in her head until she was choking on her tears and she didn't know how to stop. Didn't know if she could stop.

She didn't realize when the water was cut off. Or when a soft towel was placed over her and she was bodily lifted from the tub. Or when she came to rest in the lap of her best friend.

He just held her. He couldn't offer anything else right then.

Her sobs eventually quieted and when she blinked open tear swollen eyes the first thing she saw was rough stubble and a familiar jawline.

She reached a hand up tentatively and felt his cheek, and then the edge of his glasses before she brought her hand back down and let it rest on his neck. She could feel the grit there, stuck to his skin and the stiff collar of his shirt. She remembered a rather nasty looking wound on his temple and raised her hand again, gently feeling through his hair until she found it by touch and by his involuntary flinch.

She sat up then and looked at him. He was despondent, and almost seemed as if he wasn't even present. She took his face in her hands, thumbs brushing the dark circles that had been under his eyes for months. She didn't notice that her towel had fallen and she was mostly exposed. Being naked was insignificant right then.

She opened her mouth to speak and then thought better of it. He looked like she had. Hair grey with dust, dirty,ripped clothes, and more wounds than she could see.

Working on instinct she began doing for him what she had just done for herself. She started by removing his glasses and reached behind her to set them on the sink.

He wasn't completely non-responsive. He shifted his weight or leaned forward when she needed him to in order to get his jacket off, followed quickly by his jumper and undershirt. She didn't try to look too hard at the bruising all over his ribs, or the slightly charred area on his back. Healing those wounds would come in time.

She stood up on unsteady legs and tucked the towel around her more out of habit than anything to do with modesty. She pulled him up with her and propped him against the wall, his eyes still unseeing.

Kneeling down she made quick work of his laces and had to tap his calves to get him to lift his feet so she could pull them off. There was only a moments hesitation before she undid his belt and pulled down his trousers, kicking them away when they hit the floor.

Standing in only his boxers, bruised and bloodied and battered, he looked like such a little lost boy it made her heart ache. She held his face again and rested her forehead on his before pulling back and looking him in the eyes. She waited until he focused on her and then she very softly and very gently pressed her lips to his. He didn't respond and she didn't expect him to.

She reached into the tub one more time and turned the water back on. When she looked back at him his eyes were beginning to glaze over and his mouth began to tremble. She clutched him to her and made soothing noises, hoping to get him in the shower before he completely broke down.

As soon as she saw steam rising she divested him of his boxers, dropped her towel, and helped him step over the side of the tub.

It never once occurred to her that she was crossing a line, it simply needed to be done.

He staggered under the hot spray but she held him steady, her already sore muscles protesting his weight. His eyes shut as the water poured over his head, blood and dirt mixing as they made their way down. He winced as every wound was exposed and then she suddenly realized she was taking on more of his weight and he was shaking.

She pushed him until his back hit the cold tile behind him and then she widened her stance and held him up as he fell apart.

His head came forward to rest at her collarbone, sobs wracking his body but he didn't make a sound. Her arms went under his and around his back and she patted, and stroked mindlessly trying to give him whatever comfort she could.

Just when she thought she couldn't hold him up anymore, his hands came to her waist and he stood a little straighter. She pressed a kiss to his temple, mindful of his cut and then spied a pitifully small bar of soap and a slightly mildewed sponge left by a forgetful Hufflepuff.

She brought her hands around to his chest and steadied them there for a moment, only reaching for the items when she knew he could hold himself up.

He was looking everywhere but at her, and she surmised that he was coming back to himself a bit and feeling embarrassed by their situation. She tilted his chin up until his eyes met hers and did everything she could to convey to him without words that this was ok.

When he sighed and some of the tension left his body she knew he understood.

With her meager supplies she began washing him, beginning with his hair. She was careful with his wounds, and she didn't want to go too fast and spook him. She didn't really think, she just acted. It needed to be done so she did it. She cataloged every burn and bruise and filed it away for later in case he didn't get treatment.

She may have zoned out herself because the next thing she knew she was standing up after having scrubbed a particularly nasty gash across his left shin. She went to put the soap and sponge back when he shocked her and took them out of her hands.

His eyes didn't look so dead now and she could see that there was a bit of life behind them. His gaze was locked on her as he soaped up the sponge and then lifted it to her face. Her eyes fell shut and she tried not to wince as he moved over tiny scrapes. A rather ragged gash on her jawline gave him a bit more trouble and she was trembling when he finished. Before he moved on to her neck he leaned down a pressed his lips just to the side of the mark and she swayed.

His hands caught her elbows as she steadied herself and the unspoken look in his eyes asked if she was alright. She nodded she was and he continued. Like she had done for him, he worked slowly and carefully. He only hesitated twice. Once when he was cleaning her arm and the ragged letters stared back at them. 'I'm sorry.' his eyes said sadly, 'It's not your fault.' she sent back to him, stroking his cheek.

The second was when he noticed the scar on her chest, three years old but barely faded. He blanched when he first saw it, his eyes flying to hers, demanding to know if this was what he thought it was and she nodded once. He shut down then and started to back away from her until she grabbed his hand and brought it up to lay over the mark.

Underneath he could feel the reassuring beat of her heart and after a moment he resumed his task.

When he was finished the floor of the tub was stained red and brown and they continued to stand under the spray.

Finally, whatever magic had managed to keep the water flowing began to run out and the temperature steadily dropped until she got goosebumps and then her teeth chattered.

He reached behind him and turned it off. The silence was disarming, and she swore she could hear her own heartbeat. He cupped her face in his hands and lowered his lips to hers. Just once.

In unspoken agreement they exited the tub. She dried off quickly and picked up her wand to cast the same cleansing spells on his clothes that she had on hers.

She grimaced as she picked up her pile. Most of the worst was gone, but they were by no means clean.

When she turned around he was dressed, but still looked like he didn't know what to do one second to the next.

She swayed on her feet and spot danced in front of her eyes and then she was being led from the small room. The cool, dry air of the dorm was shocking compared to the humid rainforest they had created.

Clutching her hand in his he retraced their steps back to the dorm and headed for the nearest bed. He pulled the yellow duvet off completely leaving a relatively clean sheet underneath.

He guided her to the edge and pushed on her shoulders gently until she sat on the side. For a moment she had a flare of panic thinking he was leaving as he stepped away, but then she felt the bed dip down behind her and his hands were on her shoulders again, coaxing her to lay down.

The small single bed didn't leave them a lot of room, but they didn't really need any. He was spooned around her back, right hand laying on her hip. She curled up on her left side, and pushed herself back into him as far as she could. They both had their wands in their hands as if still expecting an attack at any moment.

She didn't think there was anyway she could fall asleep, resigning herself to just resting for a few minutes, but she underestimated the toll the past few days had taken on her.

They slept for hours, and if anyone came looking for them they left quickly and quietly, allowing them the few moments of peace they could find.

**A/N:**

**I don't typically like song fics, and this isn't technically a song fic, but it was inspired partly by a song and the title comes from one of the lines. It's a terribly beautiful song. **

"**This is Me" -Eddie From Ohio**


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